


Which Involves Assault, Battery, and a Great Deal of Property Destruction

by Untherius



Series: Adrift [3]
Category: Emberverse - S. M. Stirling, Howl Series - Diana Wynne Jones
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-19
Updated: 2013-04-19
Packaged: 2017-12-08 22:01:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/766514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Untherius/pseuds/Untherius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With martial law declared in Wales, Gareth runs into some problems getting his people to what he hopes will be safety.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Culverhouse Cross, western edge of Cardiff, Wales  
March 21, CY 1, 2012 AD

Neil Perry released his wife's hand and picked up his pace, passing toward the front of the lorry that ground its way along the A-48 road toward the edge of Cardiff. The donkeys that pulled it snorted, tossing their ears nervously.

“Are we there yet?” grumbled Rhys.

“Seven miles,” said Einion quietly, “maybe eight.”

“We'll be there when we're there,” said Neil.

“And then what?” said Rhys.

Neil took a deep breath and held it, calming himself. He liked his friends, but Rhys was really beginning to get on his nerves. “You know what's next,” he said. “We've been discussing it for days. I'm just as tired and irritable as you are. And it isn't going to get any better until we're out in the Bristol Channel, maybe not until we reach Scilly. We're in the middle of a bloody apocalypse, Rhys. Things might not _get_ any better. So would you please just shut it for a while?”

Rhys grumbled to himself, but said no more.

Several fires came into view about a hundred yards ahead. The ambient light from dozens of kerosene torches flooded the intersection of Copthorne Way and lit up the night in a way the dead street-lamps never had. To the north sat a large shopping center; to the south, a smaller one, a hotel, and the ITV Wales studio, all completely dark.

The metal of several vehicles gleamed in the firelight. Unlike almost everywhere else the Perry Caravan had been thus far, the dead autos and lorries had been hauled out of the street. Some of them sat in the gutter, others in the verge. A few were visible in both adjacent parking lots. Some of them, particularly those at the hotel, had probably already been there when Earth had Shifted. A tractor-trailer lorry sat where it had stalled partway into the mall parking lot. The area was eerily quiet. Even after dusk, the place should have been crawling with people.

Instead, the only people in sight were about a dozen soldiers. All wore the standard green uniform of the British Army. Each also carried an L85A2 assault rifle. Two horses stood tethered to a nearby post and a third bore a rider. Several of the men stepped out into the road. One of them walked forward. Gareth recognized the insignia of a Second Lieutenant.

“Good evening to you,” he said cordially, his voice bearing a brisk, military tone.

“Good evening,” replied Gareth.

“Out a little late, aren't we?” said the Lieutenant.

“No,” said Gareth, “not really.”

The Lieutenant raised an eyebrow. “You're out after curfew. That constitutes late.”

“Curfew? This is the first we've heard of that.”

“Right,” said the Lieutenant dubiously. “Well, then, you won't mind accepting an escort.”

“That's alright. We know where we're going.”

“General Order Twenty-four Seven Sixteen. No unauthorized persons are to be out of doors after curfew without authorized escort.”

“Why?”

“I'm sorry, sir. We're on a need-to-know basis.”

“Uh-huh,” said Gareth dubiously. “And I suppose someone thinks families are a threat to the good people of Cardiff?”

The soldier just looked at Gareth and said nothing.

“And just where would you be escorting us?” said Gareth.

“May I see your identification, please?”

Gareth hesitated, then presented the requested document. The Lieutenant held it up so the light could catch it.

“Mountain Ash?” He handed the document back to Gareth. “That's a long way from here...and in the opposite direction.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Yes. General Order Twenty-four Seven Four. All persons are to remain in their homes after curfew.” His eyes narrowed. “So I'm wondering...what are you doing so far from your homes so late at night?” He glanced at the convoy behind Gareth. “And with so many people?” he added.

“It's none of your concern.”

“General Order Twenty-four Seven One. Emergency measures shall be in place until such time as the crisis has abated.”

“Grand Coulee Dam!” said Howl. He stepped up on Gareth's right. “The crisis isn't _going_ to abate! It's permanent!”

“And you would be...?”

“Howl Pendragon, Royal Wizard to His Majesty the King of Ingary.”

“Ingary, eh? Never heard of it.”

“That's not important,” said Gareth. “The point is that he knows more about the situation than anyone here, including you. Please let us by.”

“I'm sorry, sir. I'm afraid I can't do that.”

“None shall pass, eh?” said Howl.

“Just so. In fact, I'm taking you all into custody.”

Howl laughed. “You and what army?”

“This one.” The Lieutenant made a gesture and four other men walked briskly toward the convoy, their rifles leveled mainly at Gareth and Howl. “Like I said. You're all under arrest, pending return to your homes.”

“No, we're not.” He took a step forward. “You'll have to shoot us to stop us.”

Gareth turned to Howl. “Ya-Howell? Eh siokhilka?” What are you doing?

“Thusetni miekana.” I'm forcing the issue.

“Os ydych yn mynd i ddweud rhywbeth,” said the Lieutenant in Welsh, “o leiaf yn dweud ei fod yn y Gymraeg.” If you're going to say something, at least say it in Welsh.

“Byddaf yn dweud ei fod ym mha bynnag iaith i'n dewis.” I'll say it in whatever language I choose. “And those toys of yours,” said Howl in English, indicating the rifles, “won't work. Just so you know.” He took another step forward.

“Ya-Howell?” said Gareth. “Sisiulka?” Are you sure?

“Ai,” said Howl. “Nonfosistenuf. Thuprosif miarfim.” Don't worry. I have a magical shield.

“Sifusika.” Of course you do, said Gareth half sarcastically.

“Take one more step,” said the Lieutenant, “and I'll shoot.”

Howl took another step.

The Lieutenant squeezed the trigger. The rifle clicked and a muffled sizzle sounded from within the firing chamber. The Lieutenant frowned, then cleared the chamber, and squeezed the trigger again, with the same anticlimactic results.

“See?” said Howl. “I told you so.”

The Lieutenant motioned to another man, who raised his weapon, pointed it at Howl, and squeezed the trigger. _Click-sizzle_. “What the hell?”

“They just tried to shoot you, didn't they?” said Gareth.

“They did,” said Howl. “'Tried' being the operative word.” He took another step forward.

“Ya-Howell,” said Gareth. “Qerl sihifru nonmishopa.” I don't think you're helping.

“Tinnish,” neither are they, said Howl. “Lem hin orsh arfad sesam nonmolerfu.” But we can't stand here all night.

“Look,” said Gareth to the Lieutenant, “we can't stand here all night and you can't arrest us. You can try, but I guarantee, it won't end well...for you. Now, this doesn't have to become violent. You have two choices. You can let us pass, and then tell your superiors to get everyone...and by that I mean the populace...off of their collective backsides and to work in the fields. Or you can let us say we told you so...meaning try to stop us, have your arses whipped, and let everyone in Cardiff starve to death.

“The lights may come back on, or they may not. If they do, then everyone can say they've pitched in during a crisis. If they don't...then may God have mercy on your souls. It's your call.”

“Any further attempt to pass will be construed as an act of aggression,” said the Lieutenant. “And an attack on the Queen's soldiers is tantamount to an attack on the Queen Herself.”

“You're a bloody idiot,” said Howl simply.

The Lieutenant flipped his rifle around and drove the butt end straight toward Howl's face. It bounced off of something unseen an inch from his nose with such force that the recoil nearly tore the Lieutenant's arm off. He yelped, dropped the weapon, and staggered backward two paces, clutching at his right shoulder. The other soldiers drew their combat knives and prepared to assail the convoy. The creaking sounds of several bows being drawn drifted though the darkness.

“I think,” said Howl, “that under your own definition, that was an attack on the King of Ingary. What do you think, Gareth?”

“I think you're right.”

One of the men lunged at a woman a couple of yards down the line. A thrumming sound came from somewhere behind Gareth, followed immediately by a _whoosh-thunk_ and an arrow suddenly sprouted from the soldier's upper chest. The man screamed and fell backward, scrabbling frantically at the shaft, blood gurbling from his mouth.

The woman took a step backward and shrieked in alarm.

“Ah, bollocks,” said Gareth.

What happened next seemed to take place all at once.

The eleven remaining soldiers rushed the convoy. Howl twitched his hand and the Lieutenant lurched backward and came down hard on his backside. Howl drew a frying pan out of a pouch at his hip.

Arrows and bolts flickered out of the darkness. The approaching soldiers checked their advance. One dropped to the ground with an arrow in the throat, blood gurgling out of his mouth. Two others gripped at their arms as arrows found their marks. Another screamed as a bolt shot through his leg, blood spurting from a severed femoral artery.

Something unseen whistled from out of the darkness, followed by a smacking sound, and a soldier lurched backward. He grunted, then recovered. A metal-on-metal sound immediately preceeded another whistle. A neat hole appeared between the soldier's eyes. His head rocked backward and he collapsed.

A soldier rushed another man, who met him with a blade similar in length to a Roman gladius, but slightly curved. The man shed the soldier's knife and in the same move severed his hand. The soldier screamed and staggered backward, coddling his bleeding stub.

Another soldier threw his knife and it stuck in the swordsman's upper arm. The man dropped his blade and screamed. Something else whistled out of the darkness and the knife-thrower fountained blood from his neck and collapsed.

Another soldier performed a complicated martial arts maneuver meant to get inside his opponent's defenses. A woman answered with a counter-move that ended with the soldier's severed brachial artery.

A focused distortion rippled out from somewhere near the lorry and two more soldiers grunted as they were thrown to the ground.

The Lieutentant picked himself up and lunged toward Howl. Howl thrust his pan forward and the Lieutenant abruptly stopped. He expanded sideways. A wet ripping sound was followed by a slight fan of blood out both of his sides. He fell backward and hit the ground with a _splut_.

The fight was over almost as quickly as it had begun. The mounted soldier was missing.

Two of Gareth's people rushed to the side of the road and vomited into the gutter.

“Oh, my God!” said someone.

“And I fear this is only the beginning,” said Gareth.

Howl stepped toward the middle of the intersection, pointed his frying pan at the ground and unleashed a sustained stream of magic through it.

“What are you doing now?” said Gareth.

“Leaving a message,” said Howl. After a few minutes, he stopped and placed the pan back into its pouch. In the asphalt, Howl had scrawled a message in Welsh:

Mae'r byd wedi Newid.  
Rwy'n teimlo ei fod yn y dŵr.  
Rwy'n teimlo ei fod yn y ddaear.  
Rwy'n arogli yn yr awyr.  
Mae llawer, unwaith yn cael ei golli, am ddim yn awr yn byw sy'n cofio ei.  
Mae'n fyd-eang. Mae'n barhaol. Beth fyddwn yn rhai a wnaethant yma dim ond gwaethygu. Rydych yn gwybod hyn yn wir. Nawr ddod oddi ar eich asesu a gwneud rhywbeth. Anwybyddwch hyn yn eich peril. Rydych wedi cael eich rhybuddio.

In English, it meant:  
The world has Changed.  
I feel it in the water.  
I feel it in the earth.  
I smell it in the air.  
Much that once was is lost, for none now live who remember it.  
It is global. It is permanent. What we have wrought here will only worsen. You know this to be true. Now get off your arses and do something. Ignore this at your peril. You have been warned.

For good measure, Howl signed and dated the message.

“A bit dramatic, innit?” said Gareth.

“So was this,” said Howl gesturing at the mess. “Besides, you know how...me...I can be.”

Gareth snorted. “My wife would say your drama has drama.”

“Gareth, you wound me.”

“Nonsense.”

“And that rider who got off who knows where is sure to return with reinforcements. And if they're all mounted, I don't expect it'll take them long to catch us.”

Gareth groaned. “We can at least halfway clean up our mess.” He winced, then grabbed the arms of the nearest body, dragged it to the side of the street, laid the arms across the chest, and closed the man's eyes. A few others followed his example.

When the roadway had been cleared, the convoy ground onward, people making a concerted effort to avoid stepping in any of the several pools of blood or the smears made by the dragged bodies. Lorry wheels went where they went, however, and left tire-shaped blood tracks a few dozen yards down the road. Gareth ignored the usual traffic-control laws, leading everyone the “wrong way” through the roundabout and onto Port Road. They ignored the small pond adjacent to the Copthorne Hotel. They still had plenty of water and there was now a threat of military pursuit hanging over their heads motivating them to make the final miles to Penarth as quickly as possible.


	2. Chapter 2

Three and a half hours later, the convoy ground along Penarth Portway just east of its junction with Terra Nova Way. Gareth led a small party away from the rest of the convoy toward the inner marina. He, Neil Perry, Wilfrid and Martha Lawun, Charmaini Bekr, Hayley Westenra, and Chloe Agnew hurried across a greenspace and then toward a sloping walkway that led down to the docks where Gareth's boat _Amphitrite_ was berthed.

A kerosene torch hung from a metal tripod off to the side of the upper end of the walkway and another on the dock below. Two soldiers with rifles stood guard.

Gareth rolled his eyes. Someone was taking their martial law a bit too seriously. Why would they guard the marina? The locks through the Cardiff Barrage were the only way out of Cardiff Bay. Even that notwithstanding, where was anyone going to go in the middle of the night? Granted, he and his were going somewhere in the middle of the night, but he really didn't know where. He decided to just barge on in like he owned the place.

Both soldiers leveled their rifles at Gareth and his companions. He resisted the urge to laugh. They might as well have been pointing squirt-guns at him. “Evening, boys,” he said. He showed no sign that he intended to so much as pause.

One of the soldiers stepped out in front of him, rifle still level. “Stop right there, sir.”

Gareth stopped only when he was within inches of the rifle's muzzle. “Move,” he said sternly.

“I think not.”

“That's apparent.”

“Sir, you need to return to your home.”

“That's my home,” said Gareth, pointing in the direction of his yacht.

The soldier glanced cautiously over his shoulder into the darkness, then back at Gareth. “There are no house boats berthed here, sir. You'll...”

“Oh, don't 'sir' me, young man,” said Gareth impatiently. “Have you any idea what's happening here?”

“EMP.”

“Is that what they told you?” Gareth chuckled ruefully. “Oh, I can assure you, it's far worse than that.”

“If you know something,” said the soldier, “then I'm going to have to take you into custody.”

“Again? Your friends at Culverhouse Cross tried that. I don't have time to keep arguing with you. If you don't let us pass...”

“Ya-Gareth?” interrupted Charmaini from behind him.

“Ai?” he said.

Charmaini stepped to Gareth's left and glared at the soldier. “Fosilowerth...dil,” she commanded. Go to sleep...now.

The soldier tottered. His eyelids drooped and he abruptly collapsed onto the ground, snoring loudly.

Charmaini looked at the other soldier and repeated the command. He, too, fell to the ground and began snoring.

“Good work, ya-Charmaini,” said Gareth. “Though their superiors are going to be furious.” He motioned for the others to follow.

They walked briskly down the walkway. Despite their best efforts, their footsteps sounded loudly on the wooden planks. The echoes died down as they reached water level and made their way to Gareth's yacht. It was very hard to see away from the firelight. A sliver of a crescent moon overhead shed just enough light through the crisp air to keep them from stepping right off the edge and into the water.

Amphitrite was a cabin cruiser, a hundred and ten feet long at the waterline. Gareth had had her custom-built a few years before. She was designed somewhere between a bare-bones approach and a luxury yacht. Neil had planted the idea in his head that there might come a day when the family and a few others might have to make a run for it. Some of that had revolved around the possibility of the Mayan Calendar being correct. Some was from apprehension over the global economy and the Perry family had come to a consensus that moving toward self-sufficiency was a good idea. In addition, some of the Ingarians' post-disaster paranoia had rubbed off on him and his family.

She had half again as much berthing space as most other boats in her class, with room for some twenty passengers. She had enough fresh water and nonperishible food stores to support them for six months. Without electricity or the use of her diesel engines, certain things, like wastewater treatment, were going to be problematic. Howl had assured Gareth that he had some ideas about that. While Gareth had come, with a fair degree of difficulty, to trust his brother-in-law when it came to magic, he still had his doubts.

Once everyone had helped free all the mooring lines, Gareth stepped from the dock onto the fantail, followed by the others, then ascended a set of steep stairs and onto the aft quarterdeck. He glanced out into the darkness in the general direction of the far side of the harbor. Somewhere out there, Howl was bicycling to his own ship, if he hadn't reached her already.

Gareth was more than a little apprehensive about Howl's vessel. He'd built her himself with his own hands. He'd finished her the month before. He'd even named her _Loriesha_ , after an Ingarian sea goddess. No one else in the family had yet seen her and Howl hadn't been sharing any details. He'd just assured everyone that he could acommodate everyone and everything that Gareth couldn't.

Gareth pulled a set of keys out of his pocket and fumbled through them in the dark, feeling each for shape. He'd insisted that no light be used until they were all safely inside in order to avoid attracting attention. He tried three before the fourth key slid into the lock. The door opened and they all slipped quietly inside.

Gareth closed the door behind them and the party stood in what felt like outer darkness. He knew exactly where the electric torch was, but also knew it would be useless. He grabbed it off the wall anyway and thrust it into Charmaini's hands.

Charmaini trailed a fingertip thrice around the lamp's housing, then tapped it firmly and said, “Ileha!” Light! The business end of the torch lit up with an orange-green glow. The bulb, its reflective backing, and the housing all emitted the strange magical light in a broadly diffused beam.

“Whoa,” said Chloe.

Everyone shed their packs or unshouldered their bags and set them on the floor in a corner, rubbing their shoulders in relief once they'd done so. Gareth took the torch from Charmaini, and found a half-dozen taper candles. He shoved each one into a brass candlestick.

Charmaini took one, tapped the tip of the wick with her pinkie, and said, “Fugh!” Flame! A small flame came to life on the wick. She lit the others in the same way and passed one to each person. Then everyone went to work, each to his or her own task.

Wilfrid dug a large, round tub out of a pack. The container was labelled “Shorkenileha,” the name of a species of bioluminescent fungus. He opened its lid to reveal what looked like some sort of paste that glowed bright green. Together, he and Chloe went to each of the recessed lighting fixtures, beginning in the Common Room. Wilfrid unscrewed the bulb, then Chloe smeared a small quantity of the paste on the inside of the fixture. “This is gross,” said Chloe. “Are you sure this won't do anything to me?”

“Lein,” no, said Wilfrid.

“What?” said Chloe.

“It's fine, Chloe,” said Gareth from across the room.

The pair continued, treating every wall- or ceiling-mounted fixture throughout the boat. Wilfrid returned to the Common Room several times with armloads of dead lightbulbs.

In the meantime, Neil led Martha and Hayley about the boat, going over who and what was to go where. Their jobs would be to make sure those spaces were ready and to lead the loaders to them. Chloe and Wilfrid were to help them once they'd finished with the lighting detail.

Gareth led Charmaini to the engine room. Twin diesel engines sat silently in their mountings. He removed the locking mechanisms to place each shaft in neutral. Charmaini smacked one with one hand and one with the other and said, “Fosigurish shar wur!” Turn backward slowly!

Both drive shafts suddenly began to turn lazily in their mountings.

“Good work,” said Gareth. “I have to get to the bridge and steer. We don't want to hit anything. I need you to stay here until I tell you. I'll send someone to tell you when to cut the engines.” He felt a bit silly talking about cutting the enginges when they weren't actually running at all. “Do you have a book?”

Charmaini pulled one out of a satchel at her waist. “Thullifr nonyormiarfimka?” Do I ever not have a book?

Charmaini settled her glasses onto her nose, opened the book to somewhere in the first few pages, held the candle up, leaned back against one of the engines and began to read.

Gareth chuckled and retreated back up the stairs, making his way to the bridge. He liked Charmaini. She'd become almost like a second daughter to him. He just wished she weren't quite so much of a book-worm, though he was pretty sure that was going to come in handy quite a bit from now on.

While the boat was moving very slowly, he was glad there hadn't been another tied up astern, as he was sure they'd have rammed it. He eased the wheel in an incremental arc. It was very difficult to see anything. Candlelight shone in the occasional window, marking where buildings sat near the water's edge. Gareth navigated by those, trusting that in the process, he'd miss the other boats and docks. Space in the inner harbor was tight and maneuvering not easy even in full daylight. Each of the long wooden floating docks had a light mounted on its end, but those, of course, no longer functioned. Damn, he wished he were a Dark-Seer!

After what seemed like forever, he made the slight jog into the first canal, the one that connected the inner marina to the outer one. It was maybe twice the width of _Amphritite_ and more than once, he was sure he was about to scrape one side or the other against one of the walls. Why the hell had he chosen to moor her as far into the marina as possible? He recalled being told that was the only place there was enough space, but he could have moored or anchored her out in the bay. He supposed that had become a moot point, or would be as soon as he'd cleared the outer canal.

Gareth was relieved to know that maneuvering in such a way was not unlike driving a front-wheel-drive auto. Only his yacht was more than twenty times the size, was moving more slowly, and had an annoyingly wide turn radius.

After another forever, he could see four of the now-familiar tripod firepots standing at what appeared to be the corners of the locks that bound the outer canal. That was good. He'd been dreading trying to locate it in the dark. It wasn't more than a few meters wider than his ship and he'd always hated maneuvering through it, even in daylight.

He fought the urge to try throttling down. Not only were the controls useless, the ship was already moving plenty slowly as it was, maybe at the rate of a lazy stroll. Instead, he aimed directly between the first pair of fires, lining her up with the far pair as well. He just hoped those locks were open. They were rarely closed, but who knew what other asinine ideas the supervising Army officers had in their heads. He still couldn't see a thing, so there was only one way to find out.

Gareth held his breath as what he judged to be the stern passed between the fires. She continued to slip through the water. He exhaled heavily, also thankful the ship made no sound, save for the swishing of water around her hull.

The glow from a couple of candles and a kerosene lantern illuminated an observation window in the Harbormaster's Office. Gareth hoped no one would be looking, that the interior light would interfere with visibility, that the martial law didn't apply as much to pleasure boats as the soldiers Charmaini had put to sleep seemed to think, and that no one would try to stop them.

He forced himself to watch the pair of fires marking the outer end of the canal. Slowly, the ship slipped between them and out into the bay. Gareth breathed a sigh of relief. Next came another tricky bit in what was turning into an ever-lengthening list of tricky bits.

He cranked the wheel hard, swinging the stern to port. He waited, then cranked it back, angling toward the long floating dock that served as the Barrage South Waterbus Stop. He prayed the bus wasn't tied up there. There was no way he'd be able to see it in time to avoid a collision. For that matter, he wasn't entirely sure where the seawall was and a collision with that would be far more damaging.

Gareth cursed under his breath and turned the wheel a little more. Having to do a multi-point cut-and-fill maneuver to bring the ship up to the dock would be extremely annoying. On the other hand, the whole thing would be for naught if he were to crash. A set of footsteps came up the stairs.

“Sishobuka?” came Wilfrid's voice. Are you well?

“Ai,” said Gareth. “Would you go down and tell Charmaini to cut the engines? Then stand by on the mooring lines. Oh, and please tell her to put her book away. She'll complain, but we'll need her. She can go back to it later. Thanks.”

“Ai,” said Wilfrid and he retreated into the gloom.

Gareth peered into the darkness astern. He could see a couple of fires near the locks that separated Cardiff Bay from the Bristol Channel. He could barely make out the top of the Barrage. Where the hell was that dock? Dammit, he wished he were a Jedi...or a mage. He wasn't sure when the screws would stop, though the resistance between the water and the non-hydrodynamic stern would surely slow the ship in rather short order.

Suddenly, a string of green-orange fires erupted along the base of the seawall. Gareth smiled. The idea of magic as a real and useful thing had been steadily growing on him since his brother-in-law and all those people had suddenly shown up in his living room some five years before. He'd severely mistrusted it at first, even its very existence, but it had proven to be quite useful more times than he could count. He had a feeling it would become even more a part of his daily life than it had already, perhaps even to the point of replacing technology. Somehow, that thought made him smile.

Now that he knew where the dock was, it was a matter of adjusting course...and then hoping he'd either slow enough to come to a decent rest, or that he still had enough momentum to carry him to within hauling distance. He watched the small flames drift closer and closer. They appeared to blink on and off, probably from people passing in front of them. He made another slight course adjustment.

More footsteps came up the stairs. “How's it look, Commodore?” asked Chloe.

“Commodore?” said Gareth.

“Well...you are in charge...and there are multiple ships...so...”

Gareth groaned. “We're close. Have Charmaini ignite some running flares, then I want all of you to stand by to throw out the mooring lines once we're close enough. I think we'll need a little help with our final approach.”

“More...magic?”

“Exactly. How are you doing with that, by the way?”

“It's...a little surreal. Honestly, though, I haven't had time for a proper WTF attack.”

Gareth laughed. “Please don't. It's not really necessary. Trust me. In the meantime, please go see to those things I mentioned.”

“Aye, sir!” The woman saluted, then retreated down the stairs.

Gareth sighed and shook his head. He'd once been a perfectly contented middle-class Welshman. Sure, he'd hated his job with the fury of a thousand burning suns. Then his brother-in-law and his wife Sophie's people had moved in, he'd quit, and had devoted himself to them. Now he was in charge of two ships and several dozen people. How had it come to that?

He heard voices outside. He wished they'd keep it down. They were already bound to attract attention. They still had yet to make it out of the bay. He felt the boat lurch a little, then shudder briefly with a sharp thump. He released the wheel and hurried down the stairs. He met the others coming back inside.

“Neil, Wilfrid, Hayley, Chloe, Martha, Charmaini, are you clear on your duties?”

“Ai,” said Neil, Wilfrid, Martha, and Charmaini.

“Aye, sir,” said Hayley and Chloe.

“Good. Remember, a lot of us don't speak English and some of us don't understand Ingarian. So if someone looks at you like you're nuts, just go nonverbal. When in doubt, pile it in the Common Room and we'll sort it out later. Let's do it!”

Gareth descended to the fantail, and then onto the dock.

The mooring lines had already been tied off and people hurried toward him. He had to get out of the way. He didn't mind. Everyone had specific instructions as to what was to be loaded onto _Amphritite_ and who was to be on her. They'd probably end up shuffling people between ships, based on who worked well, or badly, with whom, and who had what strengths, skills, and so forth, so the assignments were provisional.

Mari Perry took up position on the fantail, clipboard in-hand. An assistant stood behind her holding a candle. She checked entries off of a list and made notes as people hauled things aboard. Neil darted in and out of the quarterdeck, helping move things up the stairs from the fantail and directing their bearers inside.

A large pile of equipment and possessions had been assembled further down the dock, no doubt awaiting Howl. Gareth jogged back and forth, lending a hand here and answering a question there. So far, things were going smoothly enough. No one was making any unnecessary noise, all conversations being held in hushed tones, and there was no further sign of Army personnel. The latter was a little odd, for he was quite sure their flurry of activity was bound to attract some sort of attention. Hopefully, any observations would go unreported.

Mari walked up. “Well,” she said, “looks like it's all aboard.”

“You sound surprised.”

“A little, yes. There was a bit of tripping over each other and I'm not saying there's not more work to do, because there is. I think it helps with the morale that we're almost...how do the Americans put it...home free?”

“Yet I still sense a problem.”

“Well...yes. All three locks are still closed and the drawbridges still down. We tried to test-move them using magic, but there seems to be a bit of a...erm...learning curve with the application.”

“Were they guarded?”

“Erm...ai.”

“And?”

“We...” Mari broke eye contact with her father. “...we killed them. Same as at Culverhouse...and Dinas Powys...and Eastbrook.”

Gareth swore under his breath. “Charmaini put two to sleep.”

Mari looked up. “She did?”

“Ai. She just commanded them to go to sleep...in Ingarian, of course...and they just fell over and started snoring.”

“Dammit,” said Mari. “Why didn't we think of that? Mum could have done that! Hell, even I could have.”

“It'll be alright, lass...eventually. I hope that uncle of yours has a good idea for getting out of here, or all this will be for naught. Where the devil is he, anyway?”

“Gareth!”

Gareth and Mari both turned to see Howl Pendragon trotting up to them. Gareth had always wondered why Howell persistently went by that name, rather than his real name of Jenkins. He'd even asked, but Howell had always just smiled knowingly and said nothing. One of these days, he was going to get an answer out of that man, even if he had to use his very last breath.

“Right on time,” said Gareth, “sort of.”

“Of course,” said Howl. “A wizard always arrives precisely when he means to.”

Gareth looked past Howl. “Erm...where is she?”

“Oh, she's right there,” said Howl, pointing into the darkness.

Gareth peered into the gloom, but could only make out a large boat at the far end of the dock.

“Can you bring her closer?”

Howl turned around, looked at the boat, and then turned back to Gareth. “She's about as close as you want her.”

“No, I mean, it'll take a while shuttling everything by longboat.”

Howl smiled. “Oh, no. That's not the longboat. That's the ship.”

Gareth felt his eyes widen. “What?” He stalked past Howl and down the dock and came to an abrupt stop in front of a small sloop. “ _WHAT?!_ ” he bellowed.

“Not so loud,” said Howl as he stepped up behind Gareth.

Gareth whirled around. “What the bloody hell is this?! Is that thing even seaworthy? How the devil are we going to fit even a tenth of...that...” He gestured at the pile of stuff on the dock. “...and them...” He gestured to the people who'd begun to assemble in response to Gareth's sudden tirade. “...into... _that_?!” He practically spat the last word.

“He has a point,” said Mari. “Didn't you say you have a _ship_?”

“I did and I do,” said Howl smugly.

“Look, Uncle Howell,” said Mari, “you know I like you...always have. But sometimes I wonder about you. If you have a ship, then what the hell is this?” She gestured at the sloop.

Howl chuckled. “Really? You know they charge by the meter for berthing space.”

“Of course I know,” said Gareth irritably. “I have to pay...had to pay...the bloody bill every month!”

“And _that_ ,” said Howl triumphantly, “is why I've done _this_!”

Howl hopped into the boat, pulled both frying pans from the pouches at his waist, and began to twirl them around. “This would be more effective with different metallurgy, but it'll work. Oh, and you may want to stand back. In fact, do stand back.”

Howl swirled the pans through the air in a complex arcing pattern. They began to hum. The hum rose in pitch, then began to oscillate with a deep, pulsing thrum. Mari and Gareth stepped back a pace. The hum abruptly spiked and the pans erupted with blue-green energy. Howl clanged their bottoms together, then pulled them apart. The energy arced between them, leaping off and licking at the surfaces of the boat like a slow-motion Tesla coil discharge. Mari and Gareth stepped back to the opposite side of the dock as everyone else gathered to watch whatever it was Howl was doing.

Howl held one pan out horizontally and thrust the other against the craft's pathetic excuse for a mast. The energy rippled up it, danced across what might have passed for a superstructure and rippled along the hull, the light shifting rapidly back and forth along the visible spectrum. Creaking sounds filled the air. The craft shuddered, lurched, and began to come apart. Except that it wasn't coming apart, so much as expanding.

Boards pulled apart and new ones appeared out of nowhere to fill in the gaps. The boards parted again, creaking and cracking, knots bursting apart, woodchips and clouds of sawdust flying out each time. Then the cycle began again, boards parting, splitting, and cracking. Soon, the air was filled with the sounds of creaking, cracking, bursting wood, boards grinding against one another, and the crackling thrum of magical energy.

Each time the boards shifted and split and refilled, the boat grew. The mast creaked as it thickened and rose skyward in proportion to the lengthening hull. Another mast sprouted up from the deck...then a third...then a jib mast grew from the bow. The widening hull rammed against the dock, causing the entire thing to shudder violently. The whole time, magical energy arced over, around, and through the entire ship, like blood vessels, seeming to push and pull like so much lifeblood.

After what was probably close to twenty minutes, the transformation abruptly stopped with a loud, hollow, wooden thud and the energy dissipated. Where before there had been a tiny, pathetic sloop barely three armspans in length now floated a majestic, three-masted, two-hundred-foot long schooner. Her bow nearly touched Gareth's boat and her stern projected well beyond the end of the Waterbus dock. Yellow light shone from every window, portal, and open hatch.

“Well?” said Howl as he stepped to the edge of the now considerably higher deck. “What do you think? She's a beauty, eh?”

“Oh...my...God!” said someone.

“Holy shit!” said Einion.

“Howell,” said Megan, “you son of a motherless goat.”

“That,” said Neil, “was absolutely the coolest thing I've ever seen!”

“I can see why you named her after a sea goddess,” said Mari.

“Again! Again! Unwaith eto! Pali! Pali!” squealed two dozen children over each other and in three competing languages.

“You could have said something before,” said Gareth.

“Oh, but seeing the looks on all your faces was so much more fun!” said Howl.

Everyone just stared. Howl laughed. “And it's still priceless! Besides, she's sixty-one meters long! Like I said, Penarth Marina charges by the meter. At forty-one pounds per meter, that's twenty-five hundred pounds a month! Even if I pay the annual rate, that's more than fourteen thousand pounds! Now, why would I do that, when I could pay only a hundred and twenty pounds a month...or just _one_ thousand annually...for a four-meter boat?

“Besides, the locks are only thirty-three meters long. She wouldn't fit. Hell, Gareth, yours barely does. And it was far easier to move her over here all by my onesies.”

“What the f**k was that?!” blurted Rhys.

“Magic!” said Howl.

“Just... _what_...did you do?” said Gareth.

“I folded her,” said Howl smugly.

“You...you... _folded_...a...a...a _ship_?!” said Rhys.

“Yes!” said Howl triumphantly.

“But that's impossible!” said Chloe.

“Evidently not,” said Hayley.

Gwerfyl elbowed her fiance. “You should learn to do that,” she said. Einion chuckled.

“Whoa,” said Neil. “That's just awesome!”

“Howl,” said Sophie, “you are...what is that word...incor...incor...”

“Incorrigible?” said Howl.

“Yes,” said Sophie. “That. And it makes me want to...to...” She patted her pregnant belly.

Everyone laughed and a few wolf-whistles sounded while Howl blushed furiously, which made Megan laugh even more.

“Are we all going to stand here gawking,” said Howl, as he extended a wide, sturdy gangplank, “or are we going to get her loaded? Because you know that had to be noticed.”

“He's right,” said Gareth. “We can torment my brother-in-law later. And then maybe he can explain just how he folded a two-hundred-foot long ship into something that would have fit into a small swimming pool. In the meantime, let's get on with it!”

Everyone went to work grabbing supplies, tools, materials, provisions, and personal effects, and carrying them onto _Loriesha_. Mari stood at the top of the gangplank with her clipboard and checklist, Chloe standing behind her with the magically-enchanted torch. Howl gave instructions about where he wanted it. That many hands made short work of it all. A half-hour later, everything was stowed.

“Right,” said Gareth. “Everyone who's with me, get back to _Amphitrite_ and prepare to cast off! Those of you on first watch, you know who you are. Otherwise, sit tight. And remember, anyone who falls behind stays behind!” Those people wasted no time scurrying back to Gareth's ship, loosing most of the mooring lines, and disappearing inside.

Gareth turned to Howl. “How is it that your ship is so well-lighted?”

“Magic,” said Howl cheerily.

“Yeah, well, we're mostly using those fungi on my ship. I'd like a...erm...retrofit once we reach Scilly.”

“I think that can be arranged,” said Howl.

“So do you have any ideas about getting us out of here?”

“Because as it is,” said Neil, “we're like the Millennium Falcon on the Death Star.”

Gareth suppressed a groan. “Actually...yes. It's exactly like that.”

Howl gazed over at the locks, rubbing his chin pensively. “I do, but you won't like it.”

“I already don't like it. What do you have in mind?”

“I'm going to have to break it.”

“Oh, dear.”

“I want you to take position about fifty meters out from the far lock. You'll need to be about one length off our stern. You'll have to follow us fairly closely and just ride it out.”

“Ride it out? Why do I not like the sound of that?”

“Trust me.”

“Why does it always make me nervous when you say that?”

“What about the breakwaters?” said Neil. “How are we going to steer around those? We can hardly see out here, let alone however fast we'll be moving once all that water starts pouring out.”

“He's right,” said Gareth. “Maneuvering through the locks is going to be hard enough. How are we going to keep from crashing on the breakwaters?”

Howl grinned.

“Oh, bollocks,” said Gareth. “I hate it when you do that.”

“I'll use magic,” said Howl.

“Can you be more specific?” said Neil.

“Are you familiar with the concept of mag-lev?”

“Of course,” said Gareth. There had been a number of civil transportation projects involving the use of magnets on monorail trains.

“It's like that. Have someone charge your hull with leptons. When you see us move into the lock, have whomever's in Engineering give you full power. Then just follow us out. I'll charge the lock walls and outer breakwater with anti-leptons and we'll ride it clear out into the Bristol Channel.”

“Why does that sound like something out of Star Trek?” said Neil.

“Where do you think Rodenberry got some of his ideas?”

Gareth groaned and briefly rubbed a temple. He glanced toward the base of the docks. “I think we have company. Whatever we're going to do, let's do it!”

Gareth and Neil rushed down the gangplank and turned to help Howl haul it aboard. Then they cast off the remaining lines, which a few deck hands hauled aboard, and returned to their own ship, casting off their own lines and barking orders to their own deck crew. Howl's own orders, which he was delivering in a particularly piratey manner, floated through the night.

Once aboard, Gareth rushed to the bridge. “Have Engineering give me ahead one-quarter!” he barked. He heard the command relayed down through the ship and a minute later, they began to move. Gareth cranked the wheel hard to starboard. He watched as the bow swung away from the dock. He hoped he had enough room to make the turn without grounding on the rocks that lay at the base of the Waterbus dock.

A slight bump and a grinding sound reverberated through the hull, engendering a moderate adrenaline dump. Gareth felt his heart rate spike. He cringed. The sound abated and he exhaled deeply. He glanced astern. The magical fires along the dock had vanished and the seawall was once again in darkness. He imagined the people, some of them probably soldiers, standing out there, trying to do something. He felt some relief. He was unsure how much of that was a false sense of security, but he'd take it anyway.

He peered out into the night. A fire blazed at the end of the string of pylons extending from the inner harbor whence he'd sailed an hour before. He could tell he'd miss hitting it, but not by much. He located _Loriesha's_ running lights. Howl seemed to have moved her sideways, straight out from the dock, then swiveled her. Gareth shook his head slowly. There were things that man could do of which Gareth could only dream.

Gareth watched the pylon drift slowly astern, then swung his ship to port. After another ten minutes, he arced back around to starboard. “Full stop!” he said. He heard the order telegraphed down to the engine room. Then he turned to an Ingarian woman standing nearby.

“Siwilthka?” he asked. Are you ready?

“Ai.”

“Fosiwirtosh.” Make it so.

The woman nodded, then retreated from the bridge. A few moments later, Gareth saw her shadow scurry out onto the bow and crouch next to the yellow-green running lamp. A few pregnant moments ensued. He watched _Loriesha's_ running lamps move, indicating that the ship was turning slightly. What was Howl doing?

No sooner had he thought the question, than a stream of magical energy erupted from somewhere near the schooner's bow. It hit the drawbridge, looking like nothing so much as the Death Star firing upon a Mon Calamari cruiser. Except that the effect was entirely different. The section of road and steel did not explode. Instead, the roadbed buckled upward, then erupted into the air. As it did so, it disintegrated, coming apart in bits and pieces, which then came apart in smaller bits and pieces, which then vanished into the darkness.

A few minutes later, the stream stopped, then began again, now aimed at something closer to the water, probably the inner lock gates. A great cloud of steam rose up, forming a glowing haze around the target. After a couple of minutes, the stream stopped, then resumed. More steam rose, a little further away. After a couple more minutes, the stream stopped again.

Gareth tensed. He couldn't hear anything from inside the bridge, but he could imagine the sound of water rushing unobstructed through the now effectively open locks. He watched the lamps on Loriesha shift again, indicating renewed motion. He could see a faint halo of something ruddy surrounding the ship and spreading toward the locks. At the same time, the woman on Amphitrite's bow did something and the same ruddy glow spread along her outer hull.

Gareth turned over his shoulder. “All ahead full!” he barked. The woman behind him relayed the order. He made a mental note to do something to improve internal communication. A minute later, he felt a slight vibration and a gentle lurch as his ship began to move.

He watched as Loriesha entered the locks. Ruddy light flared up on her port side, then on her starboard side, then died down. Gareth watched the fires on the pier approach rapidly. He was close enough to see the ones on the ends of both breakwaters near the Bristol Channel. As _Amphitrite_ passed into the locks, ruddy light flared up off his own starboard bow and the ship shuddered. That must have been his hull effectively bouncing off the inside of the lock. He looked ahead at a bright red glow that reminded him of nothing so much as a shower of sparks from metal-on-metal or metal-on-rock. It was so bright, it lit up much of Howl's ship and moved rapidly along with her lights.

The glow against Gareth's hull dimmed and the fire on the pier rushed aft as he cleared the lock. The fires on the ends of the breakwater arms shifted rapidly in the dark. That could only mean...

A few moments later, the ship shook violently and bright red light flared up off Gareth's port beam. It lit up the whole wall along the entire length from stem to stern. She listed to starboard and a hissing sound filled the air. Gareth gritted his teeth. The fire at the end of the outer breakwater arm approached rapidly. Then it raced past him and the glow faded as they shot out into the open lower Ely River. The faint glow about the hull died off and Gareth watched a humanoid shadow retreat back inside. He let out a sigh of relief.

“Slow to one half,” he said calmly, as he swung the ship gently to port, following the Ely River channel. The order echoed down the hall and a few minutes later, he felt the ship slow. He watched as _Loriesha's_ lights approached. Gareth gave orders until his speed had slowed to match Howl's. The buoys marking the channel were invisible. Before the Shift, they'd have been marked with lights. Now, however, Gareth had no idea how his brother-in-law was following them.

After another half-hour, _Loriesha_ swung gently to port, and then to starboard while Gareth followed. He adjusted course and closed on her starboard beam. He barked an order to slow to one quarter.

Gareth turned around. “Prepare to rope up!” He heard the commands echo down, then saw two person-shaped shadows scurry out onto the bow and stop.

A couple of minutes later, a heavy thud sounded on the upper hull and the two shadows quickly moved with a flurry of activity, then stopped.

Gareth watched _Loriesha_ pull forward slowly. Then his whole ship lurched and began to move. Moments later, the two shadows scurried back inside. He breathed a sigh of relief as one of _Loriesha's_ sails unfurled. That would be enough for safe night cruising and to tow _Amphitrite_. There might be vessels out there set adrift when Earth Shifted and they'd be very difficult to spot in the dark.

He looked over his shoulder again. “Inform the Engineering crew that they're relieved of duty until further notice. Then tell everyone to turn in and get comfortable. It'll be at least twelve hours until we reach our destination. I know everyone's tired and we have some well-deserved rest ahead of us.”

“With pleasure,” said Chloe and she quickly retreated from the bridge. Gareth noticed she hadn't said, 'aye, sir.' Gareth didn't blame her.

They'd all been running on adrenaline for the last several days. The relief of being more or less free hit him like a wave and he could imagine that the others all felt the same way. He'd seen the strain in their faces during the loading operation and many of them looked just a hair's breadth away from collapsing. He suspected some of those people had, the instant they'd pulled away from the dock, made a bee-line to their assigned bunk space and had simply crashed there.

Gareth watched as, one by one, the lights inside Howl's ship went out. He smiled in the darkness. Clearly, _Loriesha's_ passengers had the very same idea. The sounds drifting up from below quieted. Gareth didn't expect the peace to last long, though. With the stress of their overland passage behind them, nerves were likely to run high while everyone adapted and settled into whatever their new lifestyle would turn out to be. Gareth was actually looking forward to it—to the change in life, not to the associated growing pains, which were bound to be a first-rate pain in the arse.

**Author's Note:**

> I've based Howl's ship on the Regina Maris. http://www.windisourfriend.com/en/sailingship/regina-maris.html Only his is substantially larger.


End file.
